


Tongue-Tied

by LavedaVida



Series: Mélange [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Past Child Abuse, talk of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:57:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavedaVida/pseuds/LavedaVida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre has difficulty talking about his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tongue-Tied

"I don’t want to talk about it," he said, softly to Enjolras on the way out of their history lecture.

"Ferre, the others have to know where you’re coming from. And you’ve been attending these meetings for weeks and haven’t said a word of your own past. I even got Grantaire to open up last week, surely you can do the same?" Enjolras asked, sparing a glance at his friend.

”I come to these meetings because they’re important to you, Enjolras. And really, in the face of Eponine and Grantaire and the horrors that they have lived through, I’m hardly anything special.”

"Don’t say that," Enjolras snapped. He stopped in the middle of the hallway outside their lecture hall, grabbing Combeferre’s arm and turning him toward him. "Don’t you dare say that your experiences are any less than theirs."

"It simply wasn’t as traumatizing for me as it was for them," Ferre said, quietly. He shrugged Enjolras’ hand off of him. "My story means nothing, Enjolras. I’m simply a boy who grew up too early because of the family he grew up with. The piece of a family he grew up with."

"Isn’t that what we all are, Combeferre? People who have been forced to grow up too early by the people who were meant to care for us?"

"I opened up to you a long time ago, Enjolras. I don’t see why I need to tell them, as well."

"They’re your friends."

"They don’t need to know."

"This is a group about surviving abuse, Ferre. It’s important that we all share our experiences. But— I’m not going to make you tell them, because you’re stubborn as a mule when you want to be and I don’t want to make you do anything. But I’m strongly encouraging you do do so,” Enjolras said. 

Combeferre stayed silent. He ran a hand along the back of his neck, his fingers dipping just past the collar of his shirt. He shivered as he felt them run over the edges of the scar tissue there.

"Your experiences are no less than anyone else’s, Combeferre," Enjolras said. "I need to go, I promised Cosette I’d meet her early to talk about a protest we’re planning on campus, and I want to finish that science essay before I go. You will come to the meeting tonight, though?"

Combeferre nodded. “I never miss meetings, Enjolras. You know that.”

"I know, Ferre. I was just afraid I’d maybe scared you off. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. I just… think it might help you, to have more than just me and Courfeyrac know about it."

Combeferre nodded again. “I’ll see you later, Enjolras,” he said, and with that, he turned and walked down the hallway.

~~~

"Spill," said Eponine, sliding into the seat beside Combeferre and pushing a coffee toward him.

"What?" Combeferre jumped, looking up in surprise at the sight of her there.

"You’re upset, anyone with eyes can see that. And I figured, I’m your friend— or at least, I’m close enough to being your friend that I count— and you might want to talk about it. Or not. Anyway, here’s a coffee."

"Thanks," Combeferre murmured, accepting the drink. "It’s just— Enjolras wants me to talk at meetings."

"You already talk at meetings," Eponine said, quirking up one eyebrow.

"Not— he wants me to talk about why I’m there."

"Ah. Less statistics, more sleepover gossip time?"

"Something like that."

"And you don’t want to?"

"It’s not something I like talking about."

"Hon, it’s not something that anyone likes talking about," ‘Ponine said, softly. "Lord knows, I only found out the details of Grantaire’s past last week, and I’ve known him for years."

"Enjolras and Courfeyrac both know about why I’m there. I just… don’t like talking about myself, much. I’d rather listen to other people and talk about their problems instead."

Eponine shrugged. “If it helps make up your mind about anything,” she said, standing up, “I felt a whole lot better about everything when I talked to Cosette. And then when she talked me into talking to the whole group. It feels like a weight off your chest. See you around, Combeferre.” She picked up her leather jacket off her chair, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and left him sitting alone with a barely-touched cup of coffee in a near-empty cafe.

~~~

Combeferre was writing. The meeting started in half an hour, but he was still hunched over his laptop, furiously pounding away at his keyboard, his fingers flying and his eyes flickering to the clock every couple minutes.

His phone chimed, and he paused. He tapped out a quick reply, then surveyed the document, sighed, and clicked print. Moments later, he had stuffed the page into his bag, grabbed his coat and keys, and was out the door.

"This is stupid," he muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose as he walked. One hand grasped the strap of his bag, his fingers tapping out melodies on the cloth strap as he walked, the messenger bag bumping against his leg in time to the unheard tune. 

When he reached the door to the lounge— a door that was painted green, but was so papered in flyers you could hardly see the color at all— he stopped. He was out of breath, he’d been walking so fast across campus to get here. “This is stupid,” he repeated.

With a sigh, he pushed open the door.

Most of Les Amis were already there— they’d come down from eating dinner in the Musain Dining Hall, which was in the building that housed their lounge.

"Combeferre, perfect. I think you’re the last one for tonight. Bossuet and Chetta both came down with a nasty cold, so Joly is staying home with them," said Cosette, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and throwing a smile at Ferre. "With you here, though, we can get started."

"I hope you weren’t waiting on my behalf," Combeferre said, quietly, moving over to the couch to perch on the arm beside Enjolras.

"Not at all, you were right on time," said Cosette. "But, shall we get started? Is there anyone here who’d like to talk?"

Combeferre took a deep breath. “I will,” he said, steeling his nerves and throwing as much confidence into his voice as he could.

Everyone turned and looked at him in surprise. Enjolras and Cosette looked proud. Ferre looked away from their expectant gazes, and dug into his bag for the paper he’d been writing. He pulled it out, pushed his glasses up his nose, and began to read aloud.

"I wasn’t sure how I wanted to talk about this. I’ve tried just talking about it before, without any thought of how I’m going to say what I’m going to say, and it’s just never really worked out. I get tongue-tied and upset, and I can’t seem to say what I want to. So I figured I’d try writing it out, first," he began, his voice shaking a little.

"I was ten years old when the beatings began. My mom had left the picture a few years before, and my dad had always been on edge…"

Combeferre continued to read. His free hand strayed to his neck again, running over the scars that lined his shoulder blades. It only dropped away when Courfeyrac came and stood behind him, anchoring him in the present with his hands on his shoulders.

When he finished, Cosette offered him a small smile. Eponine nodded at him, and raised her drink in a sort of toast. Enjolras patted his knee. “Thank you for telling us,” Cosette said. “You don’t really look like you want to talk anymore, though. Would anyone else like to speak?”

Pretty quickly, the meeting dissolved into Eponine ranting about cat-callers, Cosette and Marius listening intently, Enjolras and Grantaire were sitting together on the couch, their fingers and thighs brushing as they argued, and Jehan and Feuilly were talking about the theme of abuse in an art exhibit they had seen recently.

Courfeyrac still stood behind Combeferre, holding his shoulders. “You did a brave thing, tonight,” he said, softly. “I’m really proud of you, Ferre.”

Combeferre shrugged. “Everyone’s been telling me to open up. I figured… if I didn’t do it now, I might never do it.”

"Doesn’t make it any less brave," said Courf, with a shrug.

"Thanks," Combeferre said, softly. He leaned into Courfeyrac’s touch, resting his head against the other man’s chest. He was silent for a time, letting the sounds of the meeting wash over him. Finally, though, he spoke again. "It was easier than I thought it would be."

"That’s the way that it is, with things like this," Courf said, a smile playing across his lips. "Once you start talking, it’s shockingly easy to just keep talking."

"It never has been before."

"Maybe it just wasn’t the right time, before," Courf suggested.

"Perhaps," Combeferre replied. He felt tired, as though all his energy had been poured into his confession. He heaved himself off the arm of the couch, dislodging Courf’s hands from his shoulders. He gave his friend a small smile, and then moved to listen to Eponine’s conversation. He whispered something in her ear, before he sat down beside her, and she grinned at him, before returning to the conversation. 

It wasn’t long before Combeferre had returned to spouting off his facts and statistics.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://www.the-strangest-sea.tumblr.com)


End file.
